


Truths Universally Acknowledged

by Erimentha



Category: Ebon Light (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, An Unreasonable Amount of Exposition, F/M, Nobility, Rating subject to change, Regency Romance, buckle up folks this'll be a long one, not proofread sorry about it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-10-05 02:28:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17316350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erimentha/pseuds/Erimentha
Summary: In the span of six months, Alenca Goffil went from living in a cottage on the border of a small village to the owner of an extensive - and wealthy - country estate, left to her by an uncle she had never met. His legacy saw that she was not without friends and that she was sufficiently educated, but as the season in town starts, she cannot help but feel like an outsider.Her hopes for her first season are to establish herself as a presence and perhaps meet the rare few that would not mind an acquaintance with a young upstart. Of course, fate has a way of muddling things, and for Alenca, fate comes in the form of Lord Haron Milirose.





	1. A Not-Quite-Chanceful Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> this is the fic that i have been training for my whole life
> 
> and yes the estate is called Cuthinthal, I'm not sorry

A single young woman, in possession of a large fortune, would find that the doors of society open more readily to her than they would otherwise. It was the way of the world: where birth may not recommend a connection to a young lady, a dowry might, and property, independent of parental or legal ties, would.

Though Alenca Goffil knew that, she still worried. All the fortune and property in the world couldn’t make up for the obvious facets of her character that made her stand out amongst high society. She had been taught to scavenge and survive, living on the outskirts of the country with her small family, and though she would idly day-dream, she never mistook herself. Her aunt made certain of that.

When a lawyer, dressed in more finery than Alenca had ever seen in her life, appeared at the cottage door, her aunt had chased him away with a sickle. He returned, two days later, with armed guards, who sat both of them down and pestered Vanya for some time about the facts of Alenca’s birth. Had her parents been legally married? Yes, in the local parish. Witnesses? Herself and one of Koris’ friends. None from Shyli’s side?

That was then Vanya had started to lose her patience. When asked about documentation, she directed them to the parish priest, Mr Forrester, and when asked about Alenca’s birth date, she did the same. By the time they asked about proof of Shyli’s and Koris’ death, she’d had enough, and pointed them to the door, not caring that they had weapons. “We don’t have none of that here,” she’d all but snarled, “you’d find them all in the parish. If you’ve any other questions, ask them and get _out_.”

Alenca remembered clearly the long, awkward silence, when the guards looked to the lawyer – a Mr Rayne, apparently? – and he looked back at them with a long-suffering sigh. It was the usual reaction one had after dealing with her aunt. They thanked the two of them for their hospitality – Vanya snorted loudly – and quickly exited the cottage, leaving the door open a crack behind them.

“They’ll be back,” Vanya snarled, later, over a bowl of near-tasteless soup. “They’ll be back, no doubt with some sort of notice of eviction. They wouldn’t take notice of us, otherwise.”

Vanya was right, though not entirely. Mr Rayne returned the following day, more documents in hand, and by the end of his presentation the room was left in stunned silence. Alenca knew little of her mother’s past and, it became clear, that was because Vanya similarly knew little. Koris has always promised stories and explanations “for another day”, but that day came and went when he fell ill, with naught an explanation to be found.

It was quite simple, Mr Rayne had said. Shyli had, in fact, been a gentlewoman, addressed as Miss Shyli of the Cuthil family – an old and wealthy bloodline, though having never attained the level of distinction that came with a noble title. What her parents had dismissed as a childish inclination towards romanticism returned in a rather disastrous way; she had convinced them of sending her home from town ahead of schedule, only she never returned to the manor. By the time they found her, she was with child, wed to a poor man of no consequence, and they had considered her lost to them.

She’d had an elder brother, Noxt, who inherited the estate upon the death of their father. Apparently, he had written letters, but they never found their way to their intended recipient; Shyli had already passed by that time and the family retreated even further to the forest. 

The reason for the questions, the insistence on proof, was that Noxt had died childless, and left the entirety of the estate to his sister – or, as the will dictated, any surviving issue. Though he was a gentleman, there were parties interested in the governing of his lands, needing approval that could not be given by a mere steward, and that required his proper heir. One, in particular, had paid good money so that the projects could move forward.

“Do you understand now, Miss Goffil?” Mr Rayne had asked, lowering his spectacles to give Vanya an unimpressed once-over. “This is not an issue of petty land ownership. These matters concern your betters. We will be leaving in two days, with or without your approval.” Then, he turned and addressed Alenca plainly, the first time he had done so all evening. “You seem a sensible young woman, Miss Alenca. Surely you understand, where your aunt does not, that in inheriting the Cuthil estate, you will have far better prospects than you would if you remained here?”

“ _Prospects_.” Vanya’s scorn was plain. “You speak as if you would not be exposing her to the scorn of the world.”

“… My aunt has a point, sir,” Alenca frowned. “I have not been raised for that sort of society, I –“

“- will be educated,” Mr Rayne continued for her, with a casual wave of his hand. “Your late uncle has foreseen this and made provisions for such an event.”

That is what much of the past six months had been: lessons, and many of them, in the setting of the Cuthil manor. She’d agreed to go, of course. Alenca loved her aunt dearly, but she knew Vanya had been wanting to be on her own for many years, and she knew she could support her better if she did this. Besides… well, those romantic dreams still held sway over a small part of her heart.

Not even dreams could make her blind to the reality of her situation, however. No matter the words of Mr Rayne, the estate’s chief lawyer, and Mr Cantor, her late uncle’s steward, she knew she would stand out. Though her posture had improved, and her manners were impeccable, it was quite clear, from the looks she’d been given at the few small gatherings she’d attended, that she was regarded as an outsider. She had not been playing piano and singing from infancy, as some young women did. She’d known hunger and pain. Certainly, her skin had softened, and the once-hard lines of her figure turned softer, and the calluses on her palms had long since healed. But _they_ knew with a simple glance that she did not belong. The moment she was introduced, _Miss Alenca Goffil of Cuthinthal,_ they knew who she was and where she’d come from.

Alenca sighed and looked out the window, one hand idly fiddling with the fabric of her dress. Her lessons had trained her not to do that in polite company, yes, but while she was alone, two decades of habits had a way of undoing her careful guard. She had been dreading this evening for quite some time. One of her uncle’s old business partners – indeed, the very man whose project needed Alenca’s approval to proceed – was throwing a rather lavish gathering, meant to mark the beginning of the season, and she was to attend.

She’d known, within minutes of first meeting him so many months prior, that one did not simply say no to Mr Duliae Laushust without consequences. He was a man that wielded power without reprieve, with a strange sort of charm that made him manners _almost_ inviting.

He’d been clear, in that same meaning, that he intended to use her – use the _estate_ , rather – to further his own means, and invited her to do the same to him. “You may find, Miss Goffil, that we will be of mutual use to one another. The wealth of _your_ estate reflects well on my own,” he’d added, with a half-smile. “I am not adverse to promoting your own agenda, should you be amenable to my own.”

“I am amenable,” she’d replied, and she’d not entirely liked the satisfaction on his face. “Though I wonder, if I had not been, whether you would have had other means of persuading me.”

“Then,” Mr Laushust had given her another shrouded smile, “we should count ourselves fortunate that I did not have to use them.”

In the intervening months, their relationship had progressed to point of – well, not quite _comfort_ , but Alenca no longer felt as much on her guard when interacting with him. She trusted him to support her interests – namely, protecting her from the scorn her aunt had so worried about – so long as he could draw benefit from them. No doubt he trusted her in a similar manner, to allow his investments and his projects on her land so long as he continued to benefit her. Indeed, they had progressed to a first-name basis, along with an increase of frankness between to the two of them.

“As it stands, my dear,” Duliae had told her once, over dinner with their respective lawyers, “I have had a profitable relationship with your family, regardless of the condition of the markets, that pulling out at the first sign of trouble would seem abominably flighty and short-sighted.”

Certainly, there were other failings he could be accused of, but short-sighted was not one of them. And so, Alenca found herself waiting for the clock upon her mantel to chime, so that she could finally leave for the damned party. She’d been ready for what felt like ages, dressed in one of many fine gowns, soft gloves pulled just above her elbows, hair piled high upon her head with pearl pins. A year prior, she would have laughed at the notion, yet there she was, ready to go to her first society ball.

If it weren’t for the fact that she’d been too nervous to eat much, Alenca was certain she would retch before the chime rang out. Yet, just as she’d begun to despair, she heard the rich intones of the clock count out the hour: six-thirty. A heart’s beat of a moment later and one of the servants – she had _servants_ , she had yet to get used to that particular facet of her new life – opened the door to the drawing room and announced that her carriage was ready.

By the time she had pulled on her cloak – fur and lined with a plush, warm fabric – Mr Rayne was already at the door, waiting on her. Having her own property, in her name, assured her a degree of independence other young ladies her age would assuredly lack, but on this occasion the lawyer was accompanying her. Duliae, ever practically-minded, had seen fit to arrange yet another business meeting behind the scenes.

Her lawyer aided her into the carriage, then sat opposite her. Once the carriage lurched and began to make its way down the cobbled streets, he pulled out some papers and began to rifle through them, confirming her decisions. Rayne, she trusted more that Duliae – from what she had heard at the estate, he had been very close with her uncle, and he was always clear that his priorities were, first and foremost, the preservation of the lands and family he had so faithfully served. The only reason he was still in town was to see her settled and to finalize these last few deals, before returning to the countryside to oversee business there.

“Very well,” he nodded to her, once they were done, tucking the papers back inside his coat. “Should anything else arise, I will send for you.”

Alenca nodded back at that, her attention mostly on the townhomes they were moving past. From the corner of her eye, she could see Rayne open his mouth, as if he wanted to something more, but he then cleared his throat awkwardly and looked askance.

There was already a sizable crowd growing outside of Duliae’s home in town, though it was yet early in the evening. Some were lingering at the door, no doubt negotiating their own entry, while others moved past effortlessly. A few particularly decorated carriages caught her eye, almost overburdened by the hanging liveries and splendor.

Any other time, Alenca would put her history lessons to work by identifying which belonged to which family, but as the thought occurred to her, one of Duliae’s own footmen had already stepped up to the carriage and opened the door. Rayne exited first, as was proper, and then fell one step behind her as she advanced to the door. With practiced grace, she drew her invitation from her pocket, and moved past the assembled throng.

Already, she could hear their whispers – high society being as insular as it was, her being unknown to them already identified her as an upstart – but she kept her focus on her posture, her gaze kept ahead of her, the thick parchment of the invitation held between her fingers. “Miss Alenca Goffil,” she said, handing the paper over to the doorman, and then she inclined her head back, in the direction of Mr Rayne. “Mr Thomas Rayne, esquire.”

They needed no other introduction, when the names were paired with a hurried glance at the cardstock, and the man bowed before drawing open one of the doors.

Somewhere in the crowd, there was a gasp, and Alenca bit back the little smile that threatened to overtake her face at such dramatics. Her skirts gathered in one hand, she stepped across the threshold. Already, she could hear the music being played in one of the distant rooms, and the sounds of conversation echoed down the marble halls to reach Alenca in the form of a low murmuring sound. A number of servants were waiting in the entry hall, directing guests, and one stepped forward to escort Mr Rayne. Then their attention was turned to her.

The next hour passed in something of a blur, fueled partly by her lessons, partly by self-preservational instinct. She met Duliae in the receiving line – and drew more stares for the attention he paid her, _damn the man_. No doubt he was already amused by the stir she was causing, and planning on how best to take advantage of the whole affair. From there, she was handed off to Miss Skylar Selund – another acquaintance of Duliae’s and a similarly independent young woman – who saw her circulated with a level of careful disinterest.

Skylar, she knew, was not all that enthusiastic of Duliae associating with a low-born girl of newly-acquired fortune, but the two had come to something of an understanding in recent weeks. Alenca had apparently been deemed intelligent enough not to pose an immediate risk to their well-being, though was certain that if her fortunes changed, Skylar would not be hesitant in revoking her tepid approval. As it was, they could converse and share a few hushed laughs without too much discomfort.

As the first hour neared to a close, Skylar gave Alenca a look, her amusement evident only in the shine of her eyes. “I believe I was only told to see introduced to a few of the other guests here, was I not?”

In an instant, Alenca guessed what the other young woman was getting at, and gave her a wry smile. “Yes, and I daresay you’ve done just that, Miss Selund; by my count you have introduced me to at least _five_.”

“Then my obligation to you is fulfilled, is it not?”

“In both the letter and intent of your instruction, without a doubt,” Alenca agreed, and she was rewarded by a slight quirk of Skylar’s lips before she made her curtsey and parted from her. Alone for the first time, Alenca forced back her sigh of relief, and looked about. It seemed that some of the interest she had roused earlier had passed; her introductions must have sated some curiosity and gossip done away with the rest. Most of those around were satisfied with their own conversations. Spying a table of refreshments, she slipped through the crowd, ignoring the swell of song that indicated the start of another dance.

Glass of wine now in hand, she moved towards one of the windows, where the air was at least somewhat cooler, and she readied herself to enjoy her respite, however brief it would turn out to be.

Or so she had thought, before the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, stopping her from taking a sip. She’d accepted _brief_ , yes, but not so brief as to not allow a second’s break! Frustration welling within her, she turned to see just who was staring at her so blatantly.

To her surprise, it was a young man unknown to her – a _handsome_ young man, she realized, taking in his appearance before bowing her head to him and looking back out the window. Her brief glance allowed her to draw up a vague likeness in her mind, the dark hair and eyes, the full lips drawn into a smirk – was it a smirk? She was unsure. Only now it was too late to look a second time – it would be obvious, quite as obvious as he had been staring at her – was still staring, as that feeling of being watched had not left her.

It was not as if she hadn’t been around men. Before, when she was living under the relative freedom of behaviour that came with poverty, she’d known a number of them. One in particular – Rylen – was an acquaintance that she’d often bumped in to on her lonely walks to the village. Of course, those days had passed. A proper young lady, her etiquette instructor had tutted at her more than once, did not allow herself to be left alone with any sort of young man, poor or not. The wording of that had rankled Alenca – _to be left alone_ , as if she had little choice in the matter. She supposed most young ladies _had_ little choice, dependent as they were on family for their survival. Alenca at least had the advantage of her own property – she could not disown _herself_ – but it had been impressed upon her, quite severely, that not even property could excuse for any emotional excesses or flights of fancy.

Duliae, of course, was an exception. She had asked Mr Rayne once why there was such little fuss about her dining with Duliae, when he would otherwise protest her dining alone with a man, and he’d laughed so hard he started to wheeze. Apparently, she was _quite safe_ in that regard from Duliae.

The sound of applause broke her from her thoughts. One set of dances had finished and there was another swell of violin as the next was about to begin. A warm sense of satisfaction bloomed in Alenca’s chest, glad she had been able to have some time to herself, to reflect and calm her nerves – even if she still felt eyes upon her.

This time, it was irritation that overcame her. If she was such an object of interest, she thought, it would be better if he sought out someone to introduce the two of them and be done with it! It was a struggle to keep her expression pleasant as she finished her glass of wine. It was even more frustrating to be left with an empty glass, as replacing it with a full one or setting it aside would require her to move back in to the crowds. Shock could be amusing, yes, but blatant observation, as if she were a wild animal and not a rational creature, was discomforting.

Yes, she was uncomfortable. It hurt to admit it. It hurt more to think that her only lasting impact on these people was for rumors and gossip, regardless of the finery of her clothes, the attention paid to her address. Turning inward, to face the window fully, she risked a shaky inhale of breath, trying to stop the stinging of her eyes –

“If I might be of some service, Miss Goffil?”

She turned again at the unfamiliar voice, feeling her face colour, certain her humiliation was complete – then, she beheld who was speaking to her, and knew it was so. It was the young man from earlier, a small smile gracing his lips, as he reached to take her empty glass. He was speaking to her as if they had already been introduced, and yet she knew they had not been – she would have remembered the warm expression of his eyes, the way they seemed to take her in. He turned and placed the glass on the tray of a passing servant, then offered her his arm, his smile growing. “Let us find a spot where the smoke will not irritate your eyes so.”

She had a mind to reject him, what with the voice of her etiquette instructor shrieking in the back of her mind, but it occurred to her that while she knew they had not been introduced properly, the rest of the party would no doubt see them together and assume they had been. _Act as if you belong_ , she remembered being told by that same instructor, _and your integration in society will be half-done already._

Alenca smiled her thanks, nodded her assent, and took his arm gently. Even through her glove and the fabric of his sleeve, she could feel the warmth of his person. The young man guided her into a side-room, where smaller groups seemed to be congregating and speaking quietly, away from the exuberance of the main hall. “There,” he said, positioning her near another window, “I can already see the improvement. Redness does not suit your eyes, Miss Goffil.”

_As blatant with his compliments as he was with his regard_. Alenca laughed and glanced aside, out the window. The candles did very little to ward away the darkness of the night. “With how little light there is, I am surprised you can say that with confidence, sir.”

“Then I will have to endeavor to behold you in the light,” came his easy reply, which he punctuated with a broad grin. There was no mistaking his meaning, which puzzled her exceedingly. Turning her head, she did not bother to hide that she was looking him over, trying to find a hint as to his identity. There was none to be found.

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir.”

He laughed, a merry sound, seemingly uncaring of who heard it. “A gentleman should endeavor to have some element of mystery about him, if only to improve his standing in a lady’s opinion.”

“And yet, without a name, that opinion can have little foundation, and littler merit.”

Another laugh, this one sounding more pleased, and the young man bowed his head to her. “I must concede the point. Lord Haron Milirose, at your service.”

_Milirose_. She knew that name – as if she could move through Gha’alian society without knowing it! Yet that knowledge only made for further confusion – the Milirose family was of exceedingly high standing, so why would he approached her, if not to humiliate her?

As if sensing her thoughts, Lord Haron took a careful step back and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture, albeit there was still a light in his eyes that not even her suspicion could dispel. “I mean you no harm, Miss Goffil. I have heard much of you, and-“

“You wanted to see if the rumors were true?” There was a defensive bite to her words.

“One need only look at you to know that the rumors are patently false.” Lord Haron adjusted his stance, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “In any case, I find life is much more enjoyable when they are paid little heed.”

“Well,” Alenca paused. There was still an uncomfortable knot within her gut. “You have had your look, Lord Milirose.”

“That was to disprove the rumors. I should much prefer having you as an acquaintance.”

“As a novelty?”

There was a moment of awkward silence between the two of them, as apparently her remark had stunned him. When he recovered, he gave her another smile, but this one seemed different than his previous ones. Softer – almost private. “I will admit to being curious,” he said, quietly, “but that is because you have lived a life so unlike that of anyone I have ever known. Another in your position might have accepted the inheritance and hidden themselves away from the prying eyes of society.”

Alenca quirked a brow at his sudden honesty and the change in his disposition. “Well, as you can see, I am here.”

“And that is the wonder.” Lord Haron smiled again. “Here, and seemingly unchanged for it.”

There was such a warmth to his words that Alenca found herself unable to respond, too distracted by the feeling of her cheeks colouring. He seemed determined to flatter her. “And this, too, has made you curious?”

“No.”

Alenca had expected him to elaborate, but what followed his answer was silence. She chanced another look his way and found him smiling at her; when their eyes met, he continued, “It has made me appreciative of your company.”

The boldness of _that_ claim darkened the blush on her cheeks, but she rallied her nerve to respond. If he was mistaking her for some sort of wilting maiden, fresh from the country, or thinking that a few pretty words would have her eating out of his hand, she was determined to prove him wrong. “And what manner of company is that, pray tell?”

His smile only grew at her reply. “The company of a vivacious young woman with refreshing opinions.”

Alenca smiled in spite of herself and her defenses; perhaps it was his determination. “Is it not unbecoming of a gentleman to make such a premature judgement?”

Lord Haron laughed again; she was quickly discovering that she liked the sound. “You are correct, Miss Goffil. I have quite forgotten myself. I suggest, then, that we speak of more instructive matters – provided you forgive me for my prejudgement.”

There was another long moment of silence, during which Alenca looked over the man opposite her. If he was looking for an easy target of his charm, he did not seem disappointed by his failure; if he was looking to humiliate her for her lack of connections, he was not luring her in to any embarrassing displays. Perhaps his intentions were as he claimed – he was intrigued by her and enjoyed her conversation.

That in and of itself was new to her in this complicated word of niceties and gossip. But more than his own novelty – yes, perhaps she was something of a hypocrite – she could not pretend that he seemed like a man with whom she could carry on a good conversation. She’d already acknowledged his handsome face, but there was something _more_ , too, which came from seeing his sculpted features in animation.

“You are forgiven,” she replied, the corners of her mouth turning up again. His face lit up with what seemed to be genuine joy, which he followed by clapping his hands together. The sound attracted the attention of the others in the side room, but only briefly.

“Excellent!” He smiled down at her. His mouth opened, no doubt to begin as he suggested, but another voice caught Alenca’s attention – similar, but more severe.

“Haron! There you are, I’ve been looking for you for ages –“ Another man approached the two of them, his focus entirely on the younger. His features were similar to Haron’s – though the newcomers seemed a touch more distinguished – and if Alenca had to guess, she would have thought them related. “What are you _doing_ – the carriage is waiting –“

“Ernol,” Lord Haron replied, in an easy tone, “where are your manners? You’ve forgotten yourself.” He winked at Alenca. “Ernol, if I may, this is Miss Alenca Goffil, of Cuthinthal. Miss Goffil, my elder brother, Lord Ernol Milirose.”

The elder brother blinked as he took in the image of Alenca, offered her a harsh incline of his head, then turned back to Lord Haron. “We’re _expected_ –“

“At parliament, yes; my memory isn’t as bad as you suspect.” He waved his hand airily. Lord Ernol took a sharp inhale.

“If that were true, you would have met me in the foyer half an hour ago.”

Lord Haron gave his brother a shrug, then sighed as he turned the full force of his attention on Alenca. “Forgive me, Miss Goffil; if I do not leave now, I’m afraid I will be subjecting you to my brother’s impatience. I look forward to conversing with you another evening, when we are not as pressed for time.”

Lord Ernol let out a strangled huff of frustration as his brother gave Alenca a bow. She curtseyed back, then offered Lord Ernol one, which he just barely returned before taking Lord Haron by the elbow and dragging him out of the room.

Having not even been able to say a proper goodbye, Alenca was left more than a little stunned, but she quickly shook it off and returned to the main hall. To her surprise, she left the side room feeling much more energized than she had entered it. Lord Haron’s influence, perhaps… and that was a wonder.

When she returned home with her lawyer, hours later, both of them were well-satisfied, albeit for different reasons. Their business with Duliae had been settled, for the present, and Mr Rayne could return to Cuthinthal and oversee its implementation. For her part, Alenca had made several new acquaintances – including another Milirose, Lady Calipoa – whose company she looked forward to having in the coming weeks. Though there was one thing she had to admit: of all those she had met that evening, and of the men she had danced with, there were none who intrigued her so much as Lord Haron.

If the thought of him seeking her out at another assembly brought a smile to her lips, there were no witnesses save for herself and the light of the moon.


	2. Introductions Made and Questions Posed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Alenca Goffil finds herself in a whirlwind of activity, but that doesn't seem to stop a certain young man from making an impression in her thoughts - among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which eri finally fucking updates a fic, oh my god
> 
> proofreading is for the strong and i am not lmao

The day after Duliae’s gathering was slow to start, but once it did Alenca found herself occupied by household affairs – staff salaries and budgets. Rayne had left early that morning, while she was still recovering from the late night, though Alenca didn’t need his assistance. Living as poor as she had, she was familiar with budgets and the value of coin. Morning dragged into afternoon, afternoon into evening, broken up only by the occasional call and card sent her way. A few were enterprising young gentlemen hoping to invest in the low-lying mines on her lands, but Alenca could promise them nothing. Her uncle’s previous deals were not made void with his death; she would rather not risk the income, employment, and goodwill that they were providing. When she retired for the night, she could at least be satisfied that her day was a productive one.

Alenca was reading in the drawing room after breakfast the next morning when one of the servants knocked and poked her head inside. Upon seeing Alenca occupied, she blanched slightly, and curtseyed. “A – a Lady Milirose to see you, miss.”

A beat and a blink later, Alenca closed her book and stood. “Thank you; see her in, please.”

The only lady Milirose she’d met was Calipoa; to pay a call so soon after meeting was a compliment indeed. However, from what she’d learned during their brief conversation at Duliae’s, the lady would likely not appreciate if Alenca took up the pose of a thankful sycophant. It was just as well; it made her uncomfortable to have to take up such a role and she would rather not have to do it.

“Miss Goffil!” Lady Calipoa grinned widely at Alenca as she strode into the room, dressed in fine walking gear, albeit her choice of clothing was odd, particularly the pantaloons and tall leather boots. It was atypical of a woman, particularly one of her station, but Alenca could not deny that it cut a rather flattering figure on her.

“Lady Milirose,” Alenca curtseyed, then smiled back as she gestured to a seat. “Please, sit. Might I call for refreshments? Perhaps some tea?”

“Ah, no, I’m too damnable hot for tea,” Lady Calipoa drew a fan out from one of her pockets and opened it with a practiced snap. “Though I won’t say no to something to eat. I’m absolutely _famished_.”

“I will send for some lemonade, then, and some snacks.”

The lady nodded her assent. Alenca stepped out into the hall, quietly expressed her request to the maid that was waiting there, and smiled her thanks as the young woman hurried to the kitchens. When she returned, she found Lady Calipoa sitting in a half-sprawl. It appeared that she was rather blasé about the stiffer restrictions of propriety; in combination with her easy, friendly manners, she set Alenca at ease.

“You came from the country, did you not? Did you hunt much?”

“With traps.” Rifles were instruments of the wealthy, for the most part. “We did have a bow, but with the restrictions…”

They were limited in what they could hunt. Vanya could sneer at most of society, but she didn’t wish to attract the attention of the law by poaching. Rather than appear put-off by the notion, Lady Calipoa’s eyes brightened and she sat up a little straighter. “You practice archery, then? It is not so popular here as it is in other parts, but there is a range just outside of town, you know – we should have to go sometime. I have a cousin who –“

Abruptly, she stopped and laughed. “But look at me! I’ve already forgotten why I came. A cousin of mine is an officer in the military and his regiment will be posted in town; he’ll be arriving in a few days and I’ll be hosting a tea to welcome him.” From her other pocket, she withdrew a card, and passed it to Alenca between two pale fingers. “I dearly hope you come, Miss Goffil; it appears you are one of the few ladies in this town with whom one can have an enjoyable conversation without being nagged about _unreasonable excesses of emotion_.”

Her heart warmed at the gesture – to think that she was being considered, being thought of as a person and not as some threatening concept, by as likable a person as Lady Calipoa… well. Her smile was bright as she looked the card over. Etiquette told her she was being paid a great compliment to receive the invitation in person, but it meant little in face of her own happiness. “Thank you, Lady Calipoa. I will be glad to join you; I have no prior engagements.”               

“Wonderful!” Before anything else could be said, they were interrupted by the maid, returning with refreshments. For a few minutes this was all that could be remarked on – Lady Calipoa seemed appreciative of the lemonade, served cool, and was full of compliments for the little cakes. A few were purchased from a patisserie near the center of town – Duliae’s recommendation, of course – and the rest were made by Alenca’s cook, Yvaine.

“Be careful, now,” Lady Calipoa warned, idly wiping some crumbs from her bottom lip, “or I _will_ try to steal her from you; I’ll make use of the Milirose fortune, see if I don’t.”

The jest picked at the uncertainty that lurked beneath the surface of Alenca’s composure, but she did her best to laugh. “By all means, you are welcome to try, but I cannot promise she will be altogether receptive.”

In truth, her cook was yet another of the staff that lingered after her uncle’s death. She treated Alenca with some distance, though the young woman understood why. From her perusal of employment records, she had worked as a servant in the Cuthil town home since she was young enough to wash dishes. It is of little wonder that she still grieved.

If her guest picked up on Alenca’s sudden unease, she did not comment, and instead opted to spend the remainder of her visit chatting of simpler things – gossip, primarily. Soon enough, however, the call had to come to an end. Alenca saw her off with a smile. In a few days she would pay her a return visit, but she would see her before then. The tea was the afternoon after next, after all.

It was more than a little fortunate, since it gave her leave to go to the assembly hall the next morning. With her fortune, the cost of subscription was of little concern, but she still fully intended to make the most of it. There were several rooms, of course, full of refreshments and different means of passing the time – card games, mostly, and plenty of seats for conversation. As opposed to dancing, people would walk around the rooms together, where they could speak in the relative privacy that a crowded room tended to afford. Most of the time these chats were innocuous, but in her lessons Alenca had been taught that spending a morning or an afternoon walking only with a single person in the assembly hall was as clear a declaration of interest as doing so verbally.

 Not that it was a concern of hers for the time being, aside from knowing what behaviour to avoid. For the first half hour she wandered from room to room, looking over the finer details of the architecture, and stopping briefly whenever she came across an acquaintance. Eventually she came across one she knew better than the rest, as Duliae Laushust was conversing with two gentlemen. Upon catching her eye he dismissed them with a wave of his hand, then met her by one of the tables of refreshments.

“Good morning, my dear,” and he clasped her hand briefly. “I haven’t had the pleasure of conversing with you since my little gathering, have I? I assume Mr Rayne has already left you - my man said it was so.”

“Good morning, Duliae.” Alenca bowed her head in response to his question. “It truly was a delightful occasion. Thank you again for the invitation; it was too kind.”

“Think nothing of it.” He waved his hand again, a small smile on his face at the flattery, and took her arm to lead her around the room. “I have already heard much of the impact you made. Some are to be expected, of course, and do not merit my mentioning them.”

Alenca quirked a brow; he was clearly inviting her to ask about the other kind. But a business relationship does not make her beholden to his whims, so she batted her eyes while keeping up the façade of impertinent innocence. At her look, he chuckled, and began to explain some of what had come by him.

“And the Miliroses – well. I’ve heard quite a number of things about _their_ impressions.” He paused a moment as they seemingly walked by another pair that he knew, bowing his head. “Lady Calipoa has invited you to that tea of hers, I heard. Her good opinion will be of use to you, as her grandfather is often pleased by her, though it is unlikely she will manage to sway him. He _will_ take exception to you.”

She mulled over the information, then offered him a smirk. “You sound as if you speak from experience.”

“I have been in society for many years.” His tone was unlike hers moments before, the kind of false innocence that could either enrage or endear. “Sometimes my interests require me to bear his scorn, but Gawloyes is a man easily circumvented, provided you have the right – ah, methods of persuasion.” He allowed the statement to settle, then added, “But his is not the opinion of which I wished to speak. The Lords Ernol and Haron Milirose; I understand that you met them.”

The reminder of Lord Haron brought a feeling of lightness to her chest, but she kept her smile off her face. “Yes, I did.”

Whether he saw through her façade or had other information, he gave her a knowing smile. “Ernol is a particular acquaintance of mine. He said little of you – which, mind, is as positive as you are likely to get from him for the time being. His brother, on the other hand… Lord Haron had much to say.” Alenca knew enough of him to suspect his pause was only for effect; he opened his mouth as if to say more when his eyes fell upon a sight behind Alenca and he instead smiled.

“Ernol,” he said, guiding Alenca out of the path of the other walkers. As she turned to follow she found that yes, Lord Ernol Milirose was in the assembly hall, who was frowning somewhat, though not directly at her. “It is good to see you.”

“Duliae.” Lord Ernol returned the pleasantry with a sharp bow of his head. Then, his eyes fell upon Alenca – again, he seemed only to notice her as a secondary presence, but she was too good-humored for it to sting at her pride. Again, he bowed his head, though this was less of an incline. “Miss Goffil.”

“Lord Milirose.” She curtseyed. Before anything else could be said, they were joined by a fourth: Lord Haron appeared at his brother’s elbow, dark eyes alight with something she couldn’t place. But the glimmer seemed to fade, noticing Alenca on Duliae’s arm.

“Mr Laushust.” His voice, for once, was cool and controlled, though it changed back to the warmth that Alenca had known at Duliae’s party. “And Miss Goffil – I am glad to see you in good health.”

“And you, Lord Milirose.” Idly, she wondered if it were ever tiring to have so many men in one family, of the same surname – a horde of Lord Miliroses. She didn’t need any training to know to bite back _that_ thought, and the next, which arose when Lord Ernol seemed to have enough of the brief pleasantries.

“I have affairs to discuss with you, Duliae.” His gaze flickered from the blonde man to Alenca, then landed back on the former.

“Then, by all means, Ernol,” Duliae gestured with his free hand, “discuss them.”

It was clear on the lord’s face that he had been intending to speak with Duliae _alone_. For a moment, it was almost as if Duliae intended to make him spit it out, his tenuous grasp on propriety be damned. Then, Duliae smiled, and glanced down at Alenca. “Please excuse me, my dear. I am loathe to leave you unaccompanied here, but as needs must…”

“Then, by all means, Mr Laushust,” Lord Haron smoothly interjected, “I will accompany Miss Goffil in your absence, provided she has no objections.”

Duliae hardly seemed to pay mind to Lord Haron’s offer – not seriously, in any case, as his smile to the man was almost condescending. “Then,” he glanced at Alenca, “I leave you to your escort, my dear.”

He and Lord Ernol departed for one of the other rooms without further ado. Lord Haron watched them leave, then gave Alenca another smile. “Your answer, Miss Goffil?”

Alenca allowed a moment’s pause, as if she was giving the subject serious thought. Then, she let out a light laugh and took the arm Lord Haron offered her so that they might walk together. “You are kind to offer your company,” she told him, once they had integrated with the rhythm of the room.

“When the alternative was to leave a gentlewoman such as yourself _alone_ ,” his voice pitched and eyes widened to accentuate the drama of the word, “in a place such as _this_ ,” he faked a tremor in his voice – and then it all dissolved away with a laugh, “please, think nothing of it, Miss Goffil.”

“But I must,” she laughed as well, though quieter, to keep from attracting attention. “Particularly after Duliae abandoned me.”

At once, some of the joviality faded from Lord Haron’s face. “Ghastly behaviour,” he muttered, “and yet not unexpected of him.”

It was such a blatant display of dislike that for a few moments Alenca was left wanting for a response. An old instinct, telling her to cock her hip and arch her brow at his statement, was brushed aside. Instead, she rallied her humour. “Oh, for all his jests, he meant no ill. I have faced worse dangers than a ballroom.”

“Directly, perhaps,” Lord Haron replied, his eyes still dark. Before she could say anything else, he straightened himself, sweeping back his hair with his free hand. “My apologies, Miss Goffil. Mr. Laushust and I have but a scant acquaintance; I’ve no doubt that your knowledge of the man is better than mine.”

There was something odd about his words, even as he smiled at her – he was searching for some sort of information, something he would not ask outright, and Alenca could only guess. “It may be,” she conceded, “though I would put it more to chance than real insight. I have known him less than a year, myself.”

There was a slight furrow between his brows. “Oh? I believe my brother mentioned that Laushust had been doing business with you.”

“He has been doing business with the estate,” Alenca corrected lightly, “and had been since before my uncle’s passing. I inherited both the land and the association.”

Lord Haron was silent a moment more, looking into her face, then brightened, the darkness in his eyes gone. For a moment, he almost looked sheepish. It was followed by a soft chuckle. It occurred to her that perhaps he was concerned of her association with Duliae – though why, she knew not. His reputation was hardly one of a libertine, and she was much too young to be of his taste. In any case, it would be improper for him to be so concerned following a single evening’s interaction.

Not that he was all that _concerned_ with propriety, judging from the way he started to speak with her – lively and encouraging, and yet he would lean in close, as if he wanted her alone to hear him. It was behaviour for private topics, surely, not talk of dancing and walking, which they both enjoyed. It made her feel as if she was the sole focus of his attention.

She didn’t dislike the feeling.

They had just found another similarity – they both believed that cards could be either quite enjoyable or stifling depending on the company – when the distant bells of the cathedral could be heard ringing out. Alenca stopped, mentally counting – she’d stayed longer than she had intended.

“I’m afraid I must be going,” she told her companion, smiling as concern appeared on his face. “I have some business to which I must attend this afternoon. But I must thank you again for accompanying me this past while, Lord Haron.”

He shook his head, giving her a smile of his own, disarming in its sheer charm. “Think nothing of it. Your company is all the thanks I need.”

Warmth flooded her cheeks, but she swallowed back her nerves. “Do pass on my compliments to Duliae and your brother, Lord Haron. Good day.”

“Of course.” He bowed as if she had given him a task of national import, then looked up at her with a twinkling eye. “Good day, Miss Goffil.”

It was with an easy heart that she left the assembly hall, her spirits more than well enough for the afternoon ahead of her. The interaction – the good spirits that he so easily put her in – did much to smooth over the days until the morning of Lady Calipoa’s tea. That she had no nerves would have been an exaggeration, but she at least left her home feeling somewhat confident. Lord Haron, clearly, had no major objections to her company, no matter what his grandfather thought of her.

Lady Calipoa proved to be the same as Alenca was shown in to her parlor, greeting her with the same easy, genial manners with which she had issued the invitation. For a little while she took Alenca around the room, introducing her to this lady and that lord. The room itself suited her: grander tempered by comfort and practicality. Idly, Alenca wondered if Lady Calipoa lived alone, as she did, or if her parents were about, but it was hardly the time to ask.

“And this,” Lady Calipoa paused in front of a window, where a young man in a red-coat was looking out at the street below. His brown hair was tied back, revealing, as he turned, a kind face, with bright green eyes that found Alenca’s in an instant. Rather than evaluate her, as the others seemed to have done, he simply took in her appearance, and smiled as Lady Calipoa continued the introduction, “is the man of the hour, my cousin: Major Vadeyn Milirose. Vadeyn, this is Miss Alenca Goffil.” Again, she paused, as if the name should have been familiar to him. “I have it on good authority that she is quite talented in archery.”

On that note, Lady Calipoa left them, before either could say much of anything else.

“Major Milirose –“

 “Miss Goffil –“

They both stopped. Major Milirose looked rather mortified at the transgression on his part, but Alenca smiled. “It is good to make your acquaintance, Major Milirose.”

Mortification faded away into something altogether pleasanter. “And yours, Miss Goffil. I trust you have been having a pleasant season? – though I cannot imagine you have much occasion to practice your archery here.”

“Ah – yes, it has been shaping up to be very enjoyable – though I have not had much opportunity to practice, no.” Alenca glanced around, then gave him another smile. “To own the truth, I have not handled a bow since I was last in the country. I fear I am out of practice.”

“To have practiced it at all is far and above the standard here,” Major Milirose replied, a smile of his own appearing on his face. It was soft, easy, much like his manners, almost at odds with his uniform.

“You shoot, then?”

His smile turned wry. “I’m afraid I am in the same situation as you – my duties do not afford me much time to shoot, aside from a rifle. The experience is rather different.” He paused a moment, then tilted his head slightly. “I’ve no doubt that Calipoa will say otherwise, but I will take fletching arrows over the acridness of gunpowder any day of the –“

Before any more could be said, the door swung open, all but severing every conversation in the room. Another red-coat came in, this one darker-haired, his expression sour.

“Vadeyn,” the man all but spat, “you’re wanted at the barracks.”

“Come, now, Captain Darhal,” Lady Calipoa called, as she made her way across the room to where Alenca and the major had been standing. “Surely my cousin has some time yet? You may stay as well, if you must.”

The man – Captain Darhal? – gave her a sour look at the suggestion. “Oh, _surely_ , if he wants to ignore a summons from his superiors.”

“You needn’t appear so hopeful, Laceaga,” Major Milirose replied, shaking his head. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

“ _Now_ ,” he hissed, before turning tail, his bootsteps echoing down the hall. With a slight sigh, Major Milirose turned to his cousin.

“Thank you for inviting me, at least – though I’m sorry I have to leave so soon.”

“Think nothing of it, Vadeyn.” Lady Calipoa smiled, taking Alenca’s arm with her own. “I have company here, and there is little more amusing than seeing that man bristle at his surroundings.”

“You don’t have to work with him,” was Major Milirose’s reply, shaking his head. A pause, a sigh, and he straightened his posture. “Regardless,” he started, offering Alenca a smile, “it was good to make your acquaintance, Miss Goffil.”

Alenca returned the attention with a bob of her head. “And yours, Major.”

With one last kind smile, the major left. Though missing its guest of honour, the tea carried on regardless, and Alenca circulated on her own for some time before Lady Calipoa caught her arm again, near the end of the occasion.

“You needn’t be so surprised,” the lady told her, after a few minutes of conversation. They were stationed near the refreshment table, engulfed in their sandwiches, by all outward appearances. “Such behaviour is typical of the militia. Our grandfather’s connections saw Vadeyn advanced ahead of the captain, but he will receive it in time. He has his own favour; his behaviour guarantees it.”

Alenca glanced about, under the pretense of sipping her tea, to see the other guests were occupied in their own conversations. It was rather bold of Lady Calipoa to say – though she had already known that the lady was predisposed to that sort of behaviour. It wasn’t a lack of intelligence. Rather, Alenca had the feeling that Lady Calipoa, despite appearance to the contrary, had a level of power that meant she needn’t worry about breaking such rules.

She, however, did not, which is why she replied in an undertone. “Typical or not, it seems needlessly aggressive.”

A smirk appeared on the other woman’s lips, almost crooked. “Your tutors would have you believe high society is all pretty words and manners, Miss Goffil, but those who play up their surface trappings only do so because they have not the strength to stand as themselves. Beneath the luster, there is danger – and Gha’alia revels in it. More tea?”

It was such an abrupt change that it took Alenca a moment to respond. When she did, it was with wide eyes and a quiet nod. Lady Calipoa leaned to fill her cup, then whispered, “New as you are, you are perceived as unconnected, or as unconnected as a young lady can be. Many see you as a rogue element; they see you as a threat.”

“A threat?” The words came on an exhale, hardly audible over the sound of the tea pot being placed back down on its tray.

Lady Calipoa hummed, taking up her sandwich once more, and Alenca considered the conversation finished. They parted ways for the rest of the tea, only reuniting again as her host saw her to the door.

The lady leaned, apparently to fix a strand of Alenca’s hair, and murmured, “Their minds have been made up well before meeting you. They regard you a threat. The rest is in your hands.”

Again, Alenca could only repeat the words. “The rest?”

“Whether or not you _will_ be.” Then, pulling back, Lady Calipoa smiled. “Do have a safe walk, Miss Goffil. Thank you so much for coming.”

Alenca smiled back and thanked her, once more, for the invitation, before making her way home. It seemed shorter than it had before, her mind as occupied as it was.

She wasn’t a fool – she knew Gha’alia was dangerous. But first, Lord Haron’s veiled warning, and now Lady Calipoa’s, direct as can be? Was there truly such aggression, lingering just beneath the surface?

Who was she kidding – of course there was. Why else station the militia here, in town, with hostilities set to boil at their borders? Why not station them at port, where they might be easily deployed? The answer was clear: there was use for them here.

As for the other matter… did she want to be a threat? Duliae, perhaps, would approve, if it bettered his own interests. But he was clear that to be a pariah, one needed leverage, and she had none. Getting some might mean getting involved in his affairs further…

It wasn’t as if she _wanted_ to be deeply involved in Gha’alian politics. She was in town to establish herself as a presence and see through the affairs of the estate, and then return to the country. She would be safe there, away from the spheres of politics. But did she want distant safety?

These thoughts weighed on her heavily in the following days, haunting her waking hours. She could distract herself temporarily in replying to invitations and tending to business, but these were brief in the grand scheme of things. Her mind was quick to draw connections – here to the estate, the estate to Edric – and before she knew it, she was longing to be home.

There was not much by way of unbound nature in town, but there was a park, with plenty of wooded lanes where she might amble in peace. After a long morning of paying bills and writing letters, Alenca put on her walking gear and set out. Though fall was quickly settling in, the warm rays of the sun kept the chill from her bones.

For a while, she was content to walk for the sake of it, committing to memory all the dips and curves the paths took, making notes of where they seemed to part to more private places – a gazebo here, a clearing there. While crossing a bridge over a small stream, she stopped to lean against the wooden rail, observing how the water distorted her appearance.

She did not notice she had company until she heard the rapid intake of breath, the sound of footsteps halting on wood. Quickly, she turned, about to apologize – for what? Existing? She knew not – but when her eyes met with a familiar dark pair, she relaxed. “Lord Milirose.”

“Miss Goffil!” Lord Haron seemed as surprised to see her, though his smile told her he did not consider it to be an unpleasant one. “I hope I am not intruding.”

“You aren’t.” Alenca smiled back at him and stepped aside to pass. “I was merely taking a walk and decided to stop for a moment.”

“Then I am glad.” He paused a moment, glancing around. For a moment she thought he might have run out of things to say, but he quickly proved her wrong. “I am on my way to a meeting and decided to cut through the park, here – but I think I might have some time to spare, yet. Would you walk with me a little while? If,” he hurried to add, “you do not mind the company.”

It was the first hint of self-conscious behaviour she had seen in him, yet even that seemed to be delivered under the guise of charm, as he continued to smile at her. The smile, though, was not one of a man who thought he knew the answer.

“Very well,” Alenca closed the distance between the two of them, prepared to take his arm, knowing he would offer it. “That sounds very agreeable to me.”

For a few moments, they walked in silence. Lord Haron was the one to break it. “When I came upon you, you seemed rather lost in thought.”

“Yes, I was.” The agreement was not the answer he had been hoping for, she knew, but for the present it would have to be enough. For all his pleasantries, and agreeableness, and all those warm smiles he sent her way, her thoughts were her own. Whether she would involve herself in the sea of politics or decide to stay at the periphery – she wanted it to be her choice, one to make independent of handsome young men.

She did, however, allow herself a bit of openness. “I was thinking of home – ah, not the estate.”

“Your village?”

The words were spoken without malice, yet they stung at her. They stung at the pride she had grown and cultivated along with her manners and her purse. Still, she nodded. “Edric, yes. Though I have been for some time now, and I live elsewhere…”

Lord Haron slowed his pace, his gaze trailing from the path ahead to her face. “You still find yourself thinking of it.” At her nod, he continued, his voice softer, “Would you tell me of it?”

In any other context, for any other person, it might not have felt as intimate as it did. Yet Alenca was not any young lady; her village was as part of her as her mother’s blood. Still… Lord Haron’s arm was warm. His eyes were kind. He seemed curious and eager, yes, but to learn – not because she was an object of curiosity. Or so she hoped.

“The woods are much wilder,” she began, looking up at him with brightened eyes, and from there the words came easily. She described the half-forgotten paths, grown over with vines, and the crumbling walls of days gone by. She described the river, the fish that would feed on bugs in the shallows, and the smooth rocks of the waterbed. She even described the hills, wild as they were, and how her father had made a game of rolling down them until he was too sick to climb them. She stopped there – it was a natural place to stop with her memories taking a turn. Still, Lord Haron listened through it all, his questions never mocking, as they might have otherwise been.

“I should like to hear more sometime,” he told her. For a moment, Alenca was quiet, but then she nodded.

“Then perhaps we should make an exchange – information for information? My home for yours?”

The kind warmth in his eyes shifted to something else entirely, something that brought a warmth of her own to her cheeks. “It would be much easier to _show_ you – but I suppose I can arrange that.” He punctuated the statement with an uneven smirk.

It only made the heat in her cheeks worse.

The time came for them to part not long after, reaching the end of the path, one of the park’s exits in sight. Lord Haron took her hand in his, making as if he were to bow, and then paused.

“Will you be attending the assembly ball?”

Alenca, who had been expecting a goodbye, paused and blinked at him, then nodded. “Ah – yes, I will.” It was to be the first of the public balls to be held there that season, though they still had a few weeks yet to go.

“Excellent.” The smile back on his face, Lord Haron bowed over her hand. “Good day, Miss Goffil. I hope to see you again soon.”

“Likewise, Lord Milirose. Good day.”

She fought the temptation to watch him leave, instead choosing to send him one last smile before turning and heading on her own path. She may not have found any answers, but at the very least, it was an agreeable way to pass the afternoon, in _very_ agreeable company. 


End file.
